


Watchful Crow

by phoenixquest



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 20:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19912018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: Zevran knew people; he knew how to read them, knew the smallest little signs and signals that indicated something. He could tell, for example, if someone was attracted to him or repulsed – though the latter didn’t happen very often, and was easily remedied when it did – or perhaps the silent type, as opposed to being chatty. And just now, knowing this new man only four days so far, he knew something was wrong.





	Watchful Crow

Something was wrong.

Zevran knew people; he knew how to read them, knew the smallest little signs and signals that indicated something. He could tell, for example, if someone was attracted to him or repulsed – though the latter didn’t happen very often, and was easily remedied when it did – or perhaps the silent type, as opposed to being chatty. And just now, knowing this new man only four days so far, he knew something was wrong.

It had become clear to the Antivan that this Grey Warden who had saved his live, the handsome noble, pushed himself. Even as he’d been wounded by Zevran himself, he had barely let on to anyone, tending his wounded shoulder alone and not speaking to the rest.

Zevran had felt a bit of guilt, it was true, after the man had been so kind as to spare his life; perhaps he’d taken on a contract he should not have fulfilled, but he already knew not to let feelings get in the way. It was an amateur mistake, and one he no longer made.

The handsome noble was changing that, he had to admit. Sturdy and silent, strong and clearly so resilient, he intrigued Zevran more than he would ever admit. He hid himself well, that much was certain. He hadn’t even caught the man’s name, yet; the other Warden with him, an even larger man, had called him “Cous” once. But as they walked along in the dimming light of evening, he could not hide from Zevran that he was not doing well.

“If I may,” Zevran spoke up, his most charming tone escaping his lips as he caught up with the noble. The man turned to look at him, dark hair contrasting beautifully with his sky-blue eyes. He didn’t look hostile, not as the others did, the other warden and dark-haired mage with her sharp tongue. “Perhaps we ought to think about making camp,” Zevran suggested. “It is getting late, and the road makes us weary – “

“Again?” the blond-haired man groaned from behind them. “We just stopped to rest six hours ago! We’ll never make it to the forest like this.” 

Zevran had seen, just for the smallest instant, the desire to rest flicker in the dark-haired man’s eyes. He had liked the elf’s suggestion, had wanted to obey it, but his companion’s complaint had drawn it away again, steely resolve taking its place.

“Alistair’s right,” he said after a moment’s contemplation. “We keep going. It’s still early.”

“Yes, my Warden,” Zevran said, nodding and stepping back again, following the man. Yes, now he remembered the whiny man was called Alistair. The dark-haired mage was Morrigan. Intriguing but clearly deadly – he hadn’t even attempted to charm _her_.

At least not yet, he thought with a bit of a smirk at himself.

And so they walked on as the moon rose into the sky, the mage and the warrior showing no signs of wearying. Zevran himself was a bit tired, but he knew he was unwelcome enough he didn’t dare ask to stop for his own benefit. He kept a watchful eye on the Warden in front of him, though; their other two companions had sped up while the man lagged behind, weighted down with a good many things he insisted upon carrying himself.

“My Warden,” Zevran said finally, his voice low enough so as not to carry to the others. “Please, let me carry some of your – “

“No,” the man said, his voice gravelly as usual, his eyes heavy. “I’ve got it.” 

He spoke as though it took a great effort for him, and it was hardly a second later when he stumbled, and Zevran somehow managed to catch him before he fell entirely.

“What’s going on back there?” Alistair frowned, turning around. When he saw his companion on the ground in the elven assassin’s arms, he went into a rage, running back to them. “I’ll kill you, elf!” he snarled, clearly under the impression Zevran had hurt the man.

“Take it easy,” Zevran said coolly, trying to revive the Warden. “He has passed out. Could you not see his exhaustion?”

“You’re the only one exhausted,” Alistair argued. “We can get another hour, at least, before we need to stop for the night!”

“As much as I hate to agree with an assassin,” the mage spoke up dryly, “perhaps he’s right. If our _dear_ leader here can’t even walk, we may as well stop.” 

She didn’t look terribly happy about it, and Zevran wondered at the fact that they could both be so cold and uncaring toward the man.

The noble revived slightly then, opening groggy eyes and looking around. He first met Zevran’s concerned gaze, which gave him an odd jolt of feeling in his stomach, before looking at the annoyed gaze of Alistair and the judgmental one of Morrigan.

“Maker,” he mumbled, trying to sit up; he felt a tingle as Zevran helped him. “Apologies. Just…let me…”

“We are making camp,” Zevran said firmly, uncaring now of what the other two would say. 

Selfless this man may be, and that was all well and good, but Zevran owed him and it felt as though standing up to his companions when he was clearly in no shape to do so was the least he could do.

“But…I…” the noble closed his eyes again, unable to even stay conscious that long. 

Alistair threw up his hands before going off to the side of the road under the shelter of some trees and tossing down his pack.

The three of them managed to get a passable camp set up while the Warden slept, and Zevran himself settled the man in his bedroll in the tent. The Antivan had no tent himself, but had so far been content enough to curl up with a blanket by the fire when he was not on watch.

“Zevran?” the noble mumbled just as the elf was getting ready to leave the tent, the man’s armor and pack set to the side.

“Yes, my Warden?” Zevran murmured, looking back at him.

“Thanks,” the man said sleepily. “Sorry I…”

“Not all can be as tireless as your mage friend,” Zevran said with a smile. “Get some rest, my Warden.”

“It’s Shanen,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?” Zevran asked, cocking his head.

“My name’s Shanen,” the noble said, sounding half-asleep already. “Call me that.”

“Shanen,” Zevran murmured. “A handsome name for a handsome man.” This drew an almost-laugh from the noble, and Zevran was pleased.

“You can sleep in here,” Shanen managed, clearly forcing himself to stay awake. “You…don’t have to keep staying outside.”

“Ah, an invitation so soon?” Zevran grinned. “But I believe you are much too tired, my Warden.” 

The man snorted, and blushed though Zevran could not see that.

“Then sleep where you want,” he retorted. “I don’t care.” Zevran laughed.

“I thank you for the offer, my Warden. Perhaps I shall take you up on it, that is, if you are sure.”

“I’m sure,” he said, then was suddenly stern and sounded slightly more awake. “But you stay across the tent, you understand me?”

“As you say,” Zevran teased. “I will make sure that changes soon enough.” 

Shanen simply shook his head at the elf’s antics before falling into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Short but cute! I hope you enjoyed. I love kudos and comments!


End file.
